The Sixth Sense
by Goldenleaf 1510
Summary: Another gift of Birthday Smut.  I can't seem to keep my mind out of the gutter when it comes to Michael Westen. I'm really trying. Maybe eventually I'll manage to write a story with a PLOT. Until then, please settle for this!


**Author's note and disclaimer: **Happy Birthday to another friend! In which she stars in her own passionate encounter with a burned spy not of my invention. I checked with Fiona; because it's a gift, she didn't mind. She even said, "Happy Birthday!"

**The Sixth Sense**

"Excuse me, Miss. Is this your cell phone?"

Covert agent D'arcy turned cautiously toward the voice, and looked up into cool blue eyes, that appraised her as keenly as she did them. The eyes moved to her hair, taking in its lush beauty, then swept over her face, as a friendly smile revealed the most dazzling white teeth she had ever seen. Her gaze swept over the scars on his face, and her highly trained, intuitive operative's mind took in the fact that although he appeared friendly, this was a dangerous man.

And he had spoken the words that she had come to the Shopaholic Mall to hear. There are worse things than having a very cute undercover contact.

She smiled in feigned surprise, looking for all the world like a woman whose phone had dropped from her purse and said, as arranged, "Oh! Did I lose it at the frozen yogurt stand?"

Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome fell into step beside her, as she smiled her thanks and took the phone. The SIM card within held valuable intel from agents Athena and Portia, which her contact had risked his very life to deliver. She'd been told that he was on every government watch list, and should not have left Miami with this valuable intel. But he would trust no one else with this mission.

She knew that his caution was justified, as he suddenly took her elbow and steered her into the crowd at the the WatchIt! Cinema entrance. His eyes appraised the Sunday crowd with practiced ease, while his smile… well, his smile made her forget to think for a moment. This is not good, she thought. I mustn't lose sight of the importance of this mission. She knew better than to follow his gaze, focusing instead on her "lost" phone. She slipped it into her purse, her hand brushing against the cold comfort of her chrome handgun, and she took out her mirror and lip-gloss. Applying the gloss to her rosebud lips, she turned the mirror briefly to glimpse the man she thought had been following her. Still standing across the way, pretending to window shop, he was nondescript, but her sixth sense had detected him nonetheless. Maybe that psychic awareness was what gave her the vertigo that plagued her. The intel hidden in the cell phone might provide the answer to the mystery. She knew that she must deliver it to the brilliant doctors at the EveryMan Medical Clinic, Day Spa, and Gun Range. The future of Vertigo Sufferers Everywhere depended on her.

"On your one o'clock" she smiled to Mr. TD&H, as she leaned into him, pressing a breast against the arm that held her elbow. He smiled down, and brushed his lips against her hair, taking her in his arms with a subtle turn. He laughed at an imagined witticism, and raised his head, taking in every detail of their observer. "Mmhmm, good eye," he murmured. "Follow my lead." Louder now, he turned from her and smiled charmingly, "Well, um, glad to help out. You should be more careful with that phone. They're a bitch to replace."

D'arcy smiled alluringly, and followed him as he strode out of the crowd in the direction of the man. "Won't you let me buy you a drink, to say thank you?" He paused, as if considering a reply, mere steps from the nondescript man, then raised his head and looked directly into his eyes. Knowing that he'd been made, the man turned and ran.

D'arcy's handsome contact was obviously torn between the desire to follow the man, and his mission to see the intel safely delivered. The indecision lasted no more than the blink of an eye. What she could not know was that her face, her hair, her milky skin, and the feel of her breast had been burned into his skin and his mind, filling him with a desire that overshadowed all others.

He returned to her, took her hand, and smiled, " Yes, a drink sounds great. Maybe a yogurt. Let's get you out of here."

A lazy path out of the mall assured them both that they were not being followed. But they both knew that could change in a heartbeat. D'arcy's sixth sense was quiet. The peace that she felt in the presence of this man was like nothing she had ever experienced. They found themselves stealing stealthy glances at each other, then suddenly burst into smiles, relief flooding them both as they stepped outside, and into a raging downpour.

People were darting to their cars like cats out of a bag. Faced with the option of returning to the mall, which risked picking up another tail, and making a run across the street to the shelter of his car, D'arcy and her spy looked at each other, agreed wordlessly, and ran, heads down, into the rain.

"Why did you park so far away?" she gasped, laughing, dripping, as she launched herself into the back seat of his black Lincoln Town Car. He followed, slamming the door against the rain.

"It's a rental… I didn't want it dinged in that parking garage," he lied, water dripping from the tip of his nose.

"Oh, really?" smiled D'arcy. "Or is it more that you don't like parking garages?" She dug through her roomy Dior purse for something to dry off with, and found her favorite Hermes scarf. With a triumphant flourish, she pulled it out and began dabbing the drops of moisture from her arms and face.

"Well," he admitted, "they've always seemed like a great place… for guerilla warfare …to me…" His words failed him as she patted her face and neck with the piece of silk. His lips suddenly envied the light fabric that clung thirstily to her skin and pulled away reluctantly, as she moved it down her neck, along the open neckline of her blouse, and between her soft breasts, hidden from view.

D'arcy paused, and with a corner of the scarf, reached to his face to catch a drop that trickled from his hair down his left temple. She put the corner of fabric between her lips, pursing the moisture out of it, letting her eyes settle on the scar near his eye. Not wanting to know why it was there, but wanting to kiss away the hurt it represented, she suddenly leaned over him and pecked his cheekbone. He sat stone still. She kissed the scar on his forehead, above his right brow, and pressed her scarf against his face, watching it become wet and cling to him. He didn't move, accepting her ministrations with a calm that excited her to her core.

His blue eyes smoldered, and his mouth curved up the tiniest bit, opening for her next light kiss. But, ever the surprising flirt, D'arcy laughed, and rubbed his dark hair with the scarf.

He groaned and chuckled, cheeks dimpling, as he gathered her up, kicking and laughing, and smothered her with a kiss that stopped all flirtation by taking her breath utterly away.

"You're, you're getting me all… all wet," she gasped, once his lips released her. He looked down at his own chest, wet T-shirt clinging, and then at her, breasts heaving beneath her drenched blouse, her perky nipples showing through her favorite lace bra that betrayed them to his ravaging eyes.

"Getting you wet? Here?" He placed his hand around the curve of her right breast. "Yeah, well, sorry about that… and this too, it's a little wet," pinching her nipple. "Or, am I getting you wet here?" With that his left hand slid down to her thigh, beneath her skirt, and to the one place that had not had contact with the rain.

D'arcy moaned softly, and closed her eyes halfway. Not all the way, because she didn't want to stop looking at the boyishly handsome face that was now mere inches from hers. She reached up to his thick hair again, entwined her fingers in it, and pulled him in for another crushing kiss.

His fingers rubbed lightly against the soft silk of her thong (the only comfortable one she owned. The others were like, oh, forget that… he's got his finger… oh, around, oh… my, he moved it aside, and oh my, oh my, oh my, he's touching my… oh, he's sliding into me… and.. AHHH… I am SO wet now…)

She fell back into the corner of the seat and the door, pulling his mouth, the rest of him attached, with her. She felt his smile of satisfaction against her lips, and she smiled too, as much as she was able anyway, so far gone with passion that her eyes had closed and she had to make do with the feel of him, his fragrance (Armani?) and the hardness of his body everywhere that it touched her. His hand remained between her legs, fingers fondling, exploring, playful and serious at the same time, if fingers can be that. She didn't care. They were amazing.

Releasing his hair, she ran both hands down his neck and back, skimming over the muscles and ribs encased in the wet t-shirt, and she suddenly needed to feel the heat of his skin. She reached down to the hem of the wet shirt, and pulled it up and over his head. He broke the kiss long enough to pull his head through, and pulled his free arm from the sleeve, but the shirt hung from his left forearm , with nowhere to go until he took his hand away from its gentle torment of her. Which he had no intention of doing. Sensing his determination, D'arcy surrendered, powerless to stop him, not wanting to if she could. She pulled his wet naked torso to her, kissing and biting his neck and chest as he pushed his fingers further into her, touching her magic spot, making her moan and pant and rock against him. She slid down, lying along the seat, and he aligned his body with hers.

D'arcy was a woman of passion, not afraid to go after what she truly wanted and needed, and she knew now, suddenly, that she wanted and needed this man to fill her. Pushing his hand aside, (the wet t-shirt finally fell, forgotten, to the floor) she reached for the button of his jeans, then the zipper, and wrapped her hand around the hardened length of him. His moan and smile warmed her in the steamy car. She massaged him, feeling him pulse in her palm. He was beautiful here as well, long but not too thick. Just the way she liked it. As he wriggled his wet jeans down she ghosted her free hand over his firm buttocks, loving them. He had it all, shoulders, chest, arms, butt and cock. Ah, don't let him go, keep him here, pull him in, take him hold him own him. She released his cock to pull him to her with both hands cupping his ass.

And he was in her now, slowly moving, the two of them lying joined along the leather seat.

They rocked together, breathing in harmony, feeling each others' heat through their cold wet skin. The only sound was the rain pounding the car, and their rhythmic breathing, becoming deeper and more rapid, increasing, desperate, filled now with soft sounds of pleasure as they melded completely, her legs wrapped around his, pulling him deeper into her, his arms holding her to him for his very life and breath and to keep him on this earth for even now he was transported to a place that smelled only of her; of her skin and hair, that felt soft and hard and fevered and chilled. A place that was warm and warmer and hot and blazing, pulling the very life from him and into her, and he couldn't contain himself any more, and with a low growl he released everything that was in him at that moment into her, the possessor of him. She felt him, and the sound he made, so primal, so vulnerable, so animal, and so MALE, took her with him.

They smiled again, and looked into each others' eyes, noses touching, wet hair tousled and sticking to damp skin. The smiles grew into warm laughter, which filled the car, then settled into warm little chuckles, and back to tender smiles. Sadness flitted across his face. As he pulled away from her, she leaned back onto an elbow, watching him tuck himself back into his jeans. She memorized his flat stomach, his rippling chest, his troubled blue eyes.

"You don't laugh often, do you?"

He stopped. Turning to her, she could see that he was honest and unguarded, and that the moment would soon be gone. Barely a hundred words spoken between them, but she could read his mind. That sixth sense.

"No, I don't. But you do. And it's beautiful. I don't know how you do it, but it is infectious. I feel it. Thank you for that."

He turned away, drew a deep breath, composed himself, and turned back to her, the half smile on his lips warm and friendly, but it didn't reach his eyes, the pain and preoccupation lingering there.

"Let's get you home, shall we?"

D'arcy smiled, laughed a little, and picked up the cell phone from the floor of the car.

"Yes, let's. Before I lose this again."


End file.
